Lost Lives Again

This was the most beautiful day in balmy Belfast. And I spent the first part of the day in my favourite part of the city, the Botanic Gardens taking in a quick scoot to the museum and a longer one to the Palm House and the Tropical Ravine.

Paper sculptures inspired by Michelle Clapton's costume designs for Game of Thrones, created by Billy Butchkavitz. Currently at the Ulster Museum.

A selection of beautiful blooms seen today in the Botanic Gardens in the Palm House and Tropical Ravine.

But my main reason for today's trip to the city was to see the film Lost Lives at the Queen's Film Theatre which premiered in London yesterday. The book Lost Lives is a memorial to all who died as a result of more than three decades of conflict in Northern Ireland. My own copy is much read and referred to and has often been wept over. I wanted to see this film.

It was harrowing and beautiful, telling the stories of some of the people who died, beginning with Patrick Rooney in 1969. He was nine years old and the first of many children who were killed during the troubles.

I'd never heard of the Orr brothers, Malcolm and Peter, 19 and 20 years old. They were murdered in 1972, shot in the head and dumped on a roadside near the airport. No one knows who killed them except that they were two Protestant boys who had Catholic girlfriends. The grief of their parents as their coffins were removed from their home was terrible to see. There was so much grief portrayed in the film.

And it made me so angry to think that there are people right now who are utterly unconcerned about Ireland, about what we have come through, about our fragile peace.

The filmmakers were definite that every single death recorded in the Lost Lives book should be included. And so at the end, all the names were listed. Beginning in 1969 with 21 deaths, peaking in the first half of the 1970s (my father's brothers Sean and Brendan were murdered in 1974) then gradually declining through the 1980s, 1990s onwards. Yet one of the heart-wrenching names to see was one solitary death in 2019.

Lyra McKee.

I had to compose myself as I left the theatre. And it felt strange to be out in the sunshine again in Belfast, with people going about their business, just like any other city, on any fine afternoon. My edition of Lost Lives records 3697 deaths between 1969 and 2001 and 45% of those occurred in Belfast.

The Braid And The Broo

London Sister was with us this weekend. When Ava died she and her husband were in Brittany so she was unable to attend the funeral. So, this weekend, she came over to spend time with our brother and to see his family. She also spent some time with me and my family.

On Saturday we met for lunch in Middletown which is a great place to visit. It’s also where Sir Ian McKellen goes for coffee when he is in Ballymena. We were LS, Nelly, Zoe, Martha and Evie. After that, it was another look at the Fiddle and the Fife exhibition at The Braid.

This is Leslie Craig from Cullybackey, a very accomplished accordionist and composer. He stated that his first experience of playing in a session with other musicians was at Byrne's pub on the Antrim line.

Sheena and Paddy her father (to her right) were my neighbours from home. She was full of love and a true celeb

The photo and words are by Leitrim Sister who visited the Braid a few weeks ago with myself and Ganching.

The Tannaghmore connection continued. This Lambeg drum belonged to the Tannaghmore Ancient Order of Hibernians. If it's our Tannaghmore then it must be really ancient as I've never heard of a lodge in the townland.

While we were absorbing our local musical history Miss Evie was engrossed in another traditional pastime. Playing with conkers.

On the way home, we passed this building.

The Crown Buildings on George Street which formerly contained the office of the Unemployment Bureau known locally as the 'broo'. Long queues would form outside and while they waited, people carved graffiti into the soft Bann brickwork. It's still there, not that anyone would notice it unless they took a closer look. Which we did.

 

History isn't just in museums. It's everywhere.

Reasons To Be Thankful, One, Two, Three

Tuesday

• Met someone new with whom I think I might get on well.
• Swisser visited and I made her a delicious vegetarian meal which we all enjoyed.
• Really got into my Margaret Atwood book, The Stone Mattress.

Wednesday

• A pleasant day. I worked in the garden and found a spot for half of my salvia patens 'Blue Angel' that I'd grown from seed.
• I booked a ticket for a matinee at the Queen's Film Theatre next week.
• Rusty wandered into the house which, for some reason, I found amusing. The dogs chased him out. Pigs not allowed. 

Thursday

• I enjoyed seeing the leaves begin to turn and made plans to go walking in the woods soon. With my camera of course.
• I lit the first fire of the season in my private, secret sitting room.
• Talked to Hannah, who scolded on the state of the world, then told me a true story about kindness which cheered us both.

Evie And Nelly Go Shopping

Yesterday, Evie and I went to Belfast to visit shops such as Claire’s Accessories, Smiggle, Flying Tiger and Sostrene Grene. We took the train. Our purses were bulging with money and Evie was carrying a big shopping bag.

We had lunch in Patisserie Valerie which was delicious. Evie had two courses from the children’s menu and I had a salad.

We started in Claire’s. My logic was that we would get the worst shop out of the way. I limited her to 30 minutes browsing time. That might seem harsh, but thirty minutes in Claire’s is a long time for someone my age.

But I was so wrong about Claire’s Accessories being the worst shop. That award must go to Smiggle, which is dreadful. I have never before seen such a load of exorbitantly priced plastic tat. Apparently, the name Smiggle comes from combining the words ‘smile’ and ‘giggle’. Doesn’t that just make you want to vomit?

Yet, despite the horridness of some of the shops that Evie wished to visit, it was lovely to see her enjoy her day. I didn’t say, did I, that the thirty minutes spent in Claire’s was choosing earrings for her sister who, having reached the age of ten, was allowed to have her ears pierced?

Claire’s – Evie bought Martha earrings and I bought Evie a glittery hairband.

Smiggle – Evie purchased a drinking bottle that ‘squirts water into your mouth’. Surely they all do that? I won’t say what it cost because you might faint.

Flying Tiger – I bought reading glasses. Evie examined almost everything and bought nothing.

Paperchase – Evie played for a long time with a glittery blue dolphin but bought nothing.

HMV – I bought Evie a CD. One of those ones that has scores of songs on it. George Ezra being the track she was keenest on. She has been wanting this particular CD for a long time and I had promised I’d buy it for her when we went to Belfast.

Seasalt – Evie came in on sufferance. I bought a dress and some chocolate. Evie got a complimentary cupcake because it was Seasalt’s Belfast birthday.

Sostrene Grene – a packet of fruity sweets and a free DIY catalogue for Zoe,

WH Smith at the train station – the Irish News and the Beano.

All in all, a rather good day. We’ll do it again next year.

Post-Ava

I've said this before, the more that's going on the less I seem to blog.

These are the post-Ava days. This has to mean something. A wee person (I barely knew) that came to mean so much, her presence, her courage, her parent's courage, my brother's courage. It has to mean something. She was meant to be here for the short time that she was here.

Will this do? There is a lot going on, and less I want to blog.

O Arty Hatted Man

So, Miss Martha is ten years old today. The pictures from her birthday tea were taken a few days ago as,

MARTHA AND EVIE ARE IN LONDON!

Wishing them both a super-exciting time and a very happy birthday to our first grandchild. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone on Monday and hearing all about it.

An Anniversary

Our father, Seamus, was born in Tannaghmore, one hundred years ago today. When he died at the age of 85, he left behind his wife, seven children and eight grandchildren. Since his death, a further seven great-grandchildren have been born. And although he never knew them, he would have adored them, every one.

Our mother, Martha did get to meet one of those great-grandchildren, our Miss Martha. That baby brought Mum such a lot of joy in the year before she died. Mum was thrilled to know that there were two more great-grandchildren on the way that year. Ava, born a few months after Mum died and then Evie, three months after Ava.

Who would have dreamed then that the next person to die in this family would be little Ava at eight years old? Brave, beautiful Ava who smiled (usually), frowned (occasionally), or stuck her tongue out (often) whenever someone took her picture. Ava, who lost the use of both legs and her right arm but who kept on painting, drawing, making and crafting with her left. Ava, who loved musicals and old films and sunflowers and cats and her beloved family. Ava, who had very strong opinions and was not afraid to air them.

Ava died in the early hours of Friday morning, fourteen months after her cancer diagnosis. She will be laid to rest today, on her great-grandfather Seamus' one-hundredth birthday.

She leaves behind the parents who adored her, her two big brothers and two little sisters. Also, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and one last remaining great-grandfather. Please remember them all today and in days to come.

These are a few of the charities that supported Ava and her family during her illness. One, in particular, will continue to support them in their bereavement and that is The Cancer Fund For Children.

Other organisations that provided support to Ava and her family are, Macmillan NI and Horizon House, Newtownabbey where Ava's wake took place.

Any of these organisations are worth supporting as the help given to Ava, her mum and dad, and her sisters and brothers, was invaluable.

Ratty Six My Axis

Jazzer never looks so beautiful as when she's baking Nelly a birthday cake.

As always, there was assistance from Martha and Evie for the blowing out of birthday candles.

That cake tasted every bit as good as it looked. Thanks, Jazzer.

Slime On My Boots

Should I, or shouldn't I? On Friday night I decided not to go. I'm a bit of a coward about these things and I don't like to go to marches/rallies on my own. And it looked like it would be a messy sort of day because the Rally for Choice was taking to the streets at around the same time as the March for Their Lives. Two opposing groups marching in Belfast city centre on the same afternoon.

Saturday morning found me in the polytunnel taking cuttings. I checked my phone, something I do often these days. A message from Leitrim Sister. You going to Belfast? I'm just leaving. Into the house, dirty trainers off, boots on, clean top, grab purse, bag, coat, call Bert,

Can you leave me to the station? I'm meeting Dede.

Twenty minutes later I'm on the train. A glance at my boots and they are covered in slime, not the washing off kind, the kind that's made from PVC glue, food colourings and borax. Thanks, Martha and Evie.

Sometimes I wonder if there is any point in rallies and marches. But there is, even if it's just the feeling of solidarity. As usual, I was one of the oldest people there. If I'd been on the other march I'd have fitted right in with the age demographic. We caught glimpses of the others, they were an older crowd, far more men than on our march, no dogs. One man stood on the pavement, beads in his hand, watching us, saying a rosary.

Just as our march completed we passed a heavily policed street, not the regular police either, the mobile support unit, armed and ready for action. At the interface. It was just in case for there was no action, just cheers and jeers from our side and stony-faced glares from the other lot.

We spent about an hour in Writer's square listening to speakers, then headed for a drink in the John Hewitt after which we parted, Dede heading back to Leitrim and me to Great Victoria Street via TK Maxx.

Every day has its highlights, sometimes more than one. Yesterday it was time spent with Leitrim Sister and hearing Bernadette Devlin McAliskey speak. And today it was Jazzer baking me a birthday cake and me rescuing a tiny yellow ladybug from a watery end.

Photo of the cake tomorrow on my actual birthday. There will also be the traditional shot of the birthday girl blowing out the candles. Really wish I'd got round to having my hair cut. I'm sporting that badgery look again, Rhonda.

Fifteen Years

Brían came round tonight. We spoke of many things, mainly politics, religion and, briefly, this blog which is a little over fifteen years old. I said, no-one ever reads it except about six people in America and around 40 of my cousins. He said the main thing is that you keep on writing it and I expect he's right. Fifteen years is a long time in blog years. Some day I expect to get an award for the oldest blog in the world. I think Ganching might be in the running for that award too.

See Brían's name, with the fada - it's pronounced Bree-an. It took me a long time to get that right. I used to call him Bri-an. But I tried hard and eventually got it right. The only thing was, the guy in my local garage was Brian without a fada, pronounce him Bri-an, except I was trying so hard to call Brían Bree- an that I started to call Brian Bree-an too. Sort of egg-shelly thing that can only ever happen in Northern Ireland as Bri-an is most likely a Unionist (I never asked him) and Bree-an a staunch Sinn-Feiner.

Anyway, remembering that this blog is now in its mid-teens I looked back to a post from exactly 15 years ago. Bert was going camping with the fellows including Brían. If it hadn't been recorded I'd never have remembered it. Bert still hasn't got to grips with mobile phones. And I have no memories of that coffee morning other than I must have had two parents fifteen years ago.

6/9/2004

Camping

Friday night. What’s happening at Nelly’s then? Bert is preparing for a camping trip up and down Slieve Donard in the Mourne Mountains.

He is going with Martin and the gang. The boys do these macho things every now and then. The trip will involve physical exercise, whiskey and sausages. There may well be male bonding. Someone may read aloud from Hemingway. Ever supportive, Ian has called up to make sure that Bert is properly prepared. He has reminded him to charge his mobile phone, which Bert uses about once every three months. He uses it to make calls and when he has done so he always switches off so that he cannot be contacted. This is to preserve the battery charge.

Ian and Bert have erected the tent n the kitchen. They are lying in it. It is a two-man tent and they are testing this claim out. Should I be worried?

Saturday morning. Alone at last. Bert and Paddy have set off on their camping trip. I am going to a coffee morning and cake sale at Glenkeen. Natch Matty is going too. I will keep you posted. Hah!

September Reading

Over the years I have gathered a number of books by Doris Lessing. They are all rather old, the most ancient, Winter in July, having been published in 1966. The freshest, The Summer Before the Dark, a mere 46 years old. Yet, until a few weeks ago I'd never read a Doris Lessing novel. Shameful, heh? I still haven't, but I have embarked upon The Grass is Singing, her first book. My copy was published in 1969. I've barely started it.

New starts since I last blogged about books are Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City, H Is For Hawk, Helen Macdonald (library book), Andrea Levy's Small Island, Ammonites & Leaping Fish, by Penelope Lively, The Beautiful and Damned, F. Scott Fitzgerald and The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosiński (my copy 38 years old). 

The Kosiński book has been around for many years. Bert read it ages ago. When I asked him how he found it, he told me it was a harsh read. I see today that there is now a film based on the novel which played recently at the Venice Film Festival, a film so violent that there was a mass audience walk-out. The scene that prompted the rush for the exit (spoiler alert) has already taken place in my reading and it is shocking but I managed to absorb it without throwing up or panicking. All I can say about it is, cats will be cats. They like to play with their food be it alive or dead.

The Sunflower Field

For the second year running, a Portglenone couple, Damian and Karen McAllister, have sown out a field near their home in sunflowers and wildflowers and opened it to the public. This year Damian has added another small meadow sown in plants attractive to pollinators. 

And it's not just bees and butterflies come to the field. Evenings bring flocks of birds to feed on the seeds and insects. It is a wonderful sight.

I visited yesterday on a dull day and still found the place packed with visitors, many of them families with young children. It was delightful to see those children enjoying nature, asking their parents questions about insects and flowers. Who knows what passions the Sunflower Field will have sparked in those young minds. Last year the McAllisters raised close to £10,000 for their local church, this year they are raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. It's only £2 to visit, half-price for children up to 18, free for under-fives. This year, I expect they'll make even more. Macmillan is a charity that is dear to me as the support we received when Matty was sick was so welcome. And right now Macmillan nurses are helping to look after our little great-niece Ava.

Last year Ava was well enough to visit the Sunflower Field with her Aunt Naoise. But not this year as she is too ill. 

Ava,  Sunflower Girl, by Naoise

Sunflowers, by Zoe 

 Evie, by Zoe

Emily & Katy, by Zoe

Before Brexit

I am trying to remember what troubled me about world affairs before Brexit.

The Cuban missile crisis was a bummer. I was in primary school at the time yet, despite my extreme youth, was deeply affected by it. It must have been all those terrified grownups that unnerved me.

Then there was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. And Robert Kennedy. And Martin Luther King Jr. Those were a tough few years. I was starting to understand that despite the sixties call for peace and love the world could be a hateful place. I didn't know the half of it.

Next along - The Troubles. That was a long, drawn-out nightmare. And the thing is, most of the time life went on as usual. Ordinary things kept happening while extraordinary events became the new normal. Loyalist strikes, tit-for-tat killings, the crump of car bombs on a summer evening, terrible atrocities thought about for a while then forgotten when the next one happened along. Sometimes I tuned out, to the extent that even decades later, I'd read about some horror and realise that I didn't remember anything about it.

Outside Ireland, there was the Cold War which I didn't understand except that there was always the threat of nuclear war. Then there was (not in order) the Falklands War, the Gulf Wars, famines in Ethiopia, Bangladesh and Sudan, Greenham Common, global warming and Aids.

Then came a time that things looked brighter. The Good Friday Agreement brought some sort of peace and normality to Northern Ireland and it seemed we could hope for better times. Of course, wars, atrocities and injustices continued elsewhere but they could be kept at a safe distance.

Until Omagh plunged Northern Ireland right back into the nightmare. For months afterwards, I could recite the name of every single victim.

Where's the hope in all this? I started writing this blog to remember other world events that worried and tormented me before Brexit. I was looking for a sense of proportion and instead, saddened myself even more. It all seems a bit hopeless at the moment.

Tomorrow, if I am not too consumed with fatigue, I should write about The Sunflower Field, a positive and helpful endeavour in a sad and sorry world.

Family Life

This has been a family-orientated week. On Monday, I prepared for the visit of the Norfolk Crowd by making an enormous cauldron of Bolognese sauce. Apparently, my only grandson likes to eat it with pasta at least five times a week. My plan was to serve it to the Haribo Contingent later that evening. I did and they seemed to enjoy it. I mentioned to Zoe that it was to be given to the Norfolk Lot in lasagna form on Tuesday and she couldn't help but wonder how I planned to serve it to the Norfolkians on Wednesday.  Cheeky monkey!

Zoe collected the Norfolk People on Tuesday morning and it was a delight to see how excited young James was. He remembered all the dogs' names and was chuffed that Judy jumped into the car to greet him before he had disentangled himself from the child seat. All the adults enjoyed the lasagna.

Wednesday was an At Home day. We had cheese and onion pie for dinner which was served late due to Young Norfolkians being completely out of their routine and unable to settle.

On Thursday the whole crowd of them left for a trip to Belfast. I have not yet mentioned that the Norfolkian grands were also part of the party. They are actually from Leek. Staffordshire but that's another story, one that may never be told. We had Indian food from the Khayber in Galgorm and, yet again, Miss Emily refused to settle. Rather than delay dinner to a ridiculously late hour the little madam was permitted to join us and sat at the table munching poppadoms and looking gleeful. Speaking as a granny, I was delighted with her, but her mother rather less so.

Friday was party day. The bouncy castle had been delivered the previous evening and all I had to do was clear the kitchen so that we could totally mess it up again. The party was a great success. Thirteen children, aged from 9 weeks to 9 years, nine parents, four grandparents and a much-loved aunt. Dave barbecued for everyone and the kids played on the bouncy castle, trampolined, chilled in the tree-house, explored the woods, utilised the toy-room*, visited the hens and pigs and had rides on the ninky-nonk**.

There was cake, lots of cake.

And on Saturday, Katy, Mark, James and Emily went home. But not before another session on the bouncy castle.  I'm already planning the next party. Who needs to have a birthday to have cake and bouncy castles? Not us.

Yet family isn't just about the fun times. Although, hopefully, we'll all have lots of those. Today my younger brother took me to visit his son's family. Joe's little granddaughter is gravely ill, and her parents doing the most amazing job of looking after her. Their courage, and that little girl's  spirit would humble anyone. And they've had fun, they've had adventures too in this last year of their daughter's illness.

Last word - let's cherish all the people we love. Even when we're not related to them.

* My private, secret sitting room, given over for one week only to trains and train tracks, Lego, farm animals, blocks, and many other toys.

** A metal trolley usually employed for moving plant trays. Holds four children comfortably, five being a bit of a squeeze,

Really Rather Very Good

First of all, I must check tonight's weather forecast - because I am back in possession of Rachael's moth trap. She and her family are on a Cretan adventure, and I am here in Cully with my book on moths and a promise of English grandchildren.

The weather forecast says breeziness and light showers forecast for Cully tonight. I'm doing it, it's been far too long!

The Field Guide to the Moths etc. is not the only brand new book I've recently bought.

 This one I bought on Olin's recommendation. It came today and, so far, I've learned that one's writing will be much improved if the following words are excised,

* very
* rather
* really
* quite
* in fact

So I thought I'd check my last seven blog posts for these words. These amounted to just over 2000 words. There were 8 instances of 'very', 3 'rathers', just one 'really' and not a single  'quite' or 'in fact'.

Quite pleasing in fact.

Anxious August

As an experiment, I am writing this on my phone. I get bloggers block when I sit at my desk, and find myself checking views on Flickr and the news instead of good, sensible blogging. 

 It has been a weird old week. I decided to cut out mid-week drinking. It was getting to be a habit and then I found myself having sleep issues and disturbing dreams.

This is a strange time in our lives.

A photograph would lighten this post but it's happening on a phone and I haven't figured that out. I'll fix it tomorrow.

Slime Time

On this day last week, I was primed for slime. Martha wanted to know if I had PVA glue. I had, somewhere. And food colouring, and shaving phone and glitter. And borax. Borax? I didn't even know what borax was. I did Domestic Science at school. Only the swotty girls did actual Science.

I allowed myself to be persuaded and agreed that we would, on Thursday, purchase the missing ingredients and we would make slime.

So, we bought more PVA glue, and shaving foam (unfair to use up Bert's supplies) but nowhere could borax be found. I still didn't know what it was. Three shops we tried then Martha said that Mummy had some in her laundry room so off to Mummy's house we trotted.

Back to Nellybert's and I printed off a quick recipe from the internet and we got started. I was nervous that they would go mad with the supplies, that it would all be a disaster and that more than a fiver's worth of slime ingredients would be wasted. And the house would be trashed. None of these things happened and some passable slime was produced.

It was a short session as I was expecting visitors and the girls took their finished slime outside and bounced around on the trampoline for the rest of the day.

On Friday I was having my cousin Kate over and before meeting her went to Tesco to buy lunch ingredients and yet more slime supplies. Clear PVA glue. Martha's suggestion. And more food colourings. I forgot the silver glitter.

On Saturday I experimented with making slime myself. Peter and Heather came over and I showed Heather how it was done. She was rather sceptical at first but was soon hooked. I did manage to drag myself away from it and did a bit of work in the polytunnel.

No sliming on Sunday as I wanted to keep the supplies for the children. Worked in the polytunnel, tied up garlic, weeded and so on, then in the evening scrubbed up and went with my brother Joe to a show in the Seamus Heaney Homeplace. Kevin Toolis, presenting The Wonders of the Wake. It was very good.

Today, Monday, made a discovery. The pigs like Haribo snakes. Who'd a guessed it? Shopped, cooked, then Martha walks through the door at two o'clock and asked me a one-word question.

Slime?

The photographs tell the tale.

Martha Mary

I'm always being told at family gatherings (usually funerals) that I am the very image of my mother. My standard reply is that I am not nearly as nice as she was. This is true, as Matty was a very lovely person indeed and greatly loved by very many people.

Judging by these two pictures, the first taken in the late 1920s and the second in the mid-1950s, I wasn't as pretty as her either although we are rather alike. Her's was the soft and sweet beauty of County Tyrone. Mine the sternness of North Antrim with a hint of the Scot and Eastern Europe. Our brows and eyes were inherited from Martha Donnelly of Randalstown. Matty's great-grandchild, Miss Martha H from Leek, Dublin, Randalstown, Gortin, Feystown, and God-knows-where else has that very same brow. And what did we all keep behind that brow? Something great, something amazing. A fine brain, keen intelligence, kindliness, wit, humour. And, last but not least, a modest demeanour.

Bits and Pieces

This photograph has received over 9000 views on Flickr. My PB.

Monday

Early supper for The Haribos as Zoe, Dave and I were going to see Ian McKellen at the Braid Theatre in Ballymena. Ballymena? I wondered that myself but apparently the esteemed actor's great-great-grandfather hailed from the town and Sir Ian wanted to see the place. The performance was amazing, one of the best things I've ever seen. I'd tried to get tickets when it was first announced but they sold out immediately. A few spare tickets came up at the last minute and we were lucky enough to get them. My ticket was an early birthday present from Zoe and definitely one of the best birthday presents I've ever received.

Tuesday

It was Ava's eighth birthday. Other things happened, not much. The most notable happening was a phone call from Vancouver Brother. I was antsy about a trip I was planning for the following day and in the end, decided not to go.

Wednesday

I'd been planning a day trip to Dublin and cancelled on myself. Instead, stayed home and cleaned out the chicken house which gave me great satisfaction.

Thursday

Had a day out with Martha and Evie. Portglenone playground, nature walk in Big Gortgole Wood, delicious ice cream at the Kandy Shop in Randalstown, Randalstown playground, rather boring shopping at Lidl in Antrim then back home via the A26 with a singalong to George Ezra.

Granny omitted to say, Smile Please!

Friday

A very productive day at home with lots of jobs started and a few completed. One of the uncompleted jobs was lifting the remainder of the garlic. I finished that today. Jazzer came around and we lit an outside fire and spent a pleasant evening outside.

Saturday

Mooched around with Jazzer most of the day. Checked out her amazing yard transformation. A real family affair. On Saturday evening we went to the Seamus Heaney HomePlace to see the Camino Voyage. My third viewing. We were Zoe, Martha, Joe, Sinead and Ganching. Other family members attending were John and Marie, Brian and Margaret Anne, Edmund and Marie W. Martha asked,

How many cousins do you have Granny?

And I answered,

Millions.

I mean to work that out sometime.

When the film was over Marie W showed me this photograph on her phone then shared it to mine. Sometimes modern technology is just wonderful.

This little girl looks like Marie's granddaughter, like our cousins in Randalstown, like my niece in Kerry, our sister in Leitrim, my daughter in Norfolk, a cousin in New Zealand, first cousins once removed in Larne and me.

It is, of course, a photograph of our darling Matty which must have been taken 90 years ago. Thank you, Marie, for the sharing of it.

Sunday

I finished lifting the garlic, made chicken curry for supper and went for a solitary walk in Big Gortgole Wood where I had a little cry.

Red Admiral on knapweed, Big Gortgole Wood